This is an excerpt of the novella that will be in the P.N. Elrod
Lunch Time Reading Omnibus II. It is a continuation of
Vampires Prefer
Blonds, which appeared in
Chicks Kick Butt, edited by
Rachel Caine.
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Jack
Fleming, Bobbi Smythe and Charles Escott travel to a small town looking
to trace the origins of a vampire who called himself Ethan Duvert.
May, 1938
Sheriff
Lewis Malloy of Belford, Ohio, didn’t like me or Escott on sight, but
we were all in the mayor’s house and the mayor, who owed us for a number
of favors, thought we were just fine. The sheriff had to behave
himself, but only up to a point. He took Kircher to one side and
muttered at his honor, “Just who the hell are those ambercrombies?”
I
had my back to them and was on the other side of the living room
pretending to look out a window, but had no trouble hearing the
conversation. Escott slipped quietly into the hall so I could focus.
The
mayor made a small calming noise in the back of his throat. “Simmer
down, Lew, they helped me, they helped the boys, they’re just here to
tie up things.”
“That creep in the black shirt looks like a gangster. Is he?”
“No idea. Fleming runs a nightclub in Chicago—”
“There you are, then.”
“—and it was his girlfriend who found Katie Iverson and got her away from Duvert. The guy with the nose is a detective—”
Malloy rumbled a rude comment relating to Escott’s distaff parentage.
“—he thinks Duvert figured in a confidence game that he’s been tracking.”
“Howard, you don’t believe that cock and bullshit.”
“I’ve no reason not to believe it. I am vouching for them.”
“You vouched for Duvert and look how that turned out.”
“Don’t
throw that to my face in my own house! I was taken in by that son of a
bitch the same as everyone else and I’m still trying to figure out how.
You don’t have to like either of these men, but I will take it as a
personal favor if you will be civil to them. Soon as they’re done with
their business, they’ll leave.”
“What business?”
“Fleming’s
here to keep an eye on his girl and Escott I just said. I know that
after what happened we’re all gun shy on strangers, but get off your
hind legs. They’re not moving into my house, after all.”
Malloy snorted loudly enough that anyone with normal hearing would turn to look, so I did.
“Is
there a problem, Mayor Kircher?” I asked, showing polite concern. Mrs.
Fleming’s youngest had on his best Sunday-go-to-church manners and
butter, had I been able to tolerate it, wouldn’t melt in my mouth.
“Sheriff Malloy wants to know where you’ll be staying while you’re in town.”
“Hadn’t
thought of it. Miss Smythe is with the Iversons, they insisted. I saw a
hotel on the way in. Mr. Escott and I can hang our hats there. We can’t
stay long. I’ve got to get back to my business.”
“Which is?” growled Malloy.
He
was never going to like me, but by now I was used to some people being
that way. I didn’t know if they were reacting to me or if on an
unconscious level they sensed the vampire side and it scared them. It
didn’t matter, and there was no point antagonizing him. In Chicago I
might have given him the wiseacre treatment, but being on his patch
obligated me to show a respect and hope it was enough. I pulled out my
wallet and offered a red business card with white lettering that
declared Lady Crymsyn, Chicago’s Top Nightspot. In smaller letters were
the address and phone number.
Malloy was unimpressed. “Your name’s not on it.”
“I
can write it on the back if you like.” I kept to an even tone of voice,
but it was a struggle. “Mr. Mayor, I expect you have a lot to look
after right now.”
Kircher grabbed the opening. “You’re right, I need to get to it. You boys go on and do what you do.”
“What would that be?” asked Malloy.
I
shrugged. “Escott’s the detective, I’m just along for the ride. He’ll
want to see if Duvert left papers that could trace him. I don’t expect
much. Con artists might avoid keeping records.”
“I want to see everything he finds.”
“No
problem. He’ll welcome your experience.” I’d have to warn Escott to
smile and pretend to like it. “I’ll see where he’s gotten to, excuse me,
gentlemen.”
I thought I was laying it on too thick, but Kircher
didn’t seem to notice and to Malloy it wouldn’t matter. Escott was down
the hall, just coming from the kitchen in the back.
“Do not open the icebox,” he warned.
“Never occurred to me. What’s wrong with it?”
“Duvert never bought ice. What was there melted away weeks ago.”
I
marveled that the mayor had such a big house but no refrigerator. That
might change if his wife got a whiff of the rotted food. The odor that
rushed out when Escott checked the box was all over the kitchen and
spreading. I regretted taking in air to talk.
“Is the local constabulary cooperating?” he asked. “He did not look amused.”
“Kircher’s keeping him in line, but let’s not push it.”
“Very well. I was going to check the study next.”
“I’ll do the basement. Duvert would have slept down there.”
The
entry was from the hall, not the kitchen, as I found when I opened a
door on steps leading into absolute darkness. I balked and, unable to
control the reaction, backed up a step. Just under four months ago I had
a bad experience in a basement. It left the kind of scars you don’t see
on the outside. Had they been visible I thought I’d look like that
picture Dorian Gray kept so well hidden. Of course, his deformities of
soul were his own fault, mine were from bad luck and occasional lunacy.
Escott
didn’t know about that incident, even Bobbi didn’t know, and I wasn’t
going to tell them. They didn’t need the nightmares; I didn’t need them
seeing me as a grotesque cripple in want of a cage and keeper.
But
Escott was aware that I didn’t like walking into dark rooms. Granted,
with my night eyes that didn’t happen often, but without any scrap of
light to work with I was as blind as the next guy. “The wall switch is
on the outside,” he said, flicking it.
The dark vanished, along with my perfectly rational qualms.
“I’ll keep watch so you’re not interrupted,” he said.
Damn him. He’d picked up that I was wobbly. I should get more exercise and cod liver oil. I’d have to settle for exercise.
The
stairs were properly finished with a rail on both walls. The walls
seemed to press in, the space between narrowing, but that was just an
illusion as I descended. Someone had painted them white a long time ago
and it had yellowed. Smaller someones had used the unbroken expanses for
artwork; crayon drawings covered the walls on both sides under the
rails. I could imagine the mayor’s kids sitting on each step and
patiently drawing horses, dogs, planes, and self-portraits. Their
indulgent parents had not scrubbed any of it away.
All right, if a pack of five year olds could do that, then a grown up vampire could walk down and brave the rest of the place.
Kircher’s
basement was a lot nicer than Escott’s. The walls were plastered, the
floor was a checkerboard of black and white linoleum that had been kept
polished and there were plenty of lights. It was either above the water
table or he had a first rate sump pump keeping things dry.
At one
time it had been a playroom for the kids. Miniature furniture, long
outgrown, crowded one corner, dusty and waiting for the next generation
to put in a claim. The main part of the wide, low room was for storage,
same as any other basement. A few rows of folding chairs leaned against a
wall. Apparently those were brought up for social events held in the
big house. Rolled rugs lay on top.
The center of the room had been
cleared, presumably to make space for Duvert’s traveling trunk and home
earth. That one was still in the panel truck he’d taken on the hunt for
his runaway bride. A second trunk of similar size remained here, and
that would hold his spare clothes and papers.
It was open, which
was odd. Not knowing when he’d be back, he should have closed and locked
up. Come to think of it, why hadn’t the basement door been locked? That
was careless.
I started to call up to Escott, but the intake of breath to do it. . .son of a bitch.
Bloodsmell.
Old, but not too old, though there was a stinking thread of decomposition in it. In the silence I became aware of flies buzzing.
My
first thought was that Duvert had drained some luckless citizen and
left behind a body that he’d deal with after the trip. With the hypnotic
hold the bastard had exerted on the town of Belford that would be easy
as hell.
Checking the floor, in case there were spots to avoid, I came around the trunk.
The man lay face up, arms spread wide. He wore a suit, but the coat and shirt
were open and his undershirt pulled up to his arm pits. His eyes were
open and long faded to a milky glaze. His mouth sagged as though to
speak, but other than that he almost looked peaceful.
Next to the
body was a heavy mallet and scattered around it were dozens of wrapped
packs of banknotes representing thousands and thousands of dollars.
Sticking straight up from his blood caked chest was a wooden stake about two feet long.
It looked as though it had been rammed right through to the linoleum.
Yeah,
I rocked back on my heels in shock, anyone would. I knew the guy, had
been talking to him just a couple nights ago and for a second I could
not take it in. You know it’s real, you don’t want it to be real, and
the picture of it is going to be in your head forever.
So I looked
anyplace else but at the body and that’s when I saw an amorphous dark
gray blob hanging in mid air in a far corner from the lights. It shifted
the way shadows don’t. There was nothing visible casting that shadow.
I
stared for a long time at the unnatural thing, forgetting about the
body at my feet, stared and was silent. I didn’t know what to do or
think.
Then it began moving slowly, seeming to feel its way along
the wall like a blind thing. It made the opening to the stairs, hovered
there as though getting bearings, then flowed quickly upward.
That
got me going. I hurried after, watching in fascination as it made the
top with me tiptoeing as close as I dared. It almost brushed against
Escott, but avoided him and continued down the hall.
Escott saw me emerge from the basement and reacted to whatever look was on my face.
I
shook my head, one hand up in warning, and followed the grayness. It
bumbled into the kitchen and with hideous speed slipped through the back
door. I was there in an instant, vanished and shot past its resistance,
re-forming outside on the steps.
The thing kept going and was
much harder to see in the open. I could only track a hint of movement as
it bowled along fast as a running man. I followed, dimly aware of
Escott banging out the back door in my wake.
It swept across the
dark street, going between houses. I couldn’t tell if it knew I was
behind, but that didn’t seem likely. I almost caught up but the thing
suddenly paused and rose high. I knew what was next and ducked under the
thick foliage of a tree to hide. It couldn’t see me, but then I
couldn’t see it.
After a five count, I risked a check. The sky was empty now.
Escott came pounding up, puffing from the dash.
“What?” he asked.
I snarled a curse and suddenly knew how Sheriff Malloy felt about interlopers.
“What?” Escott repeated.
I gave him a disgusted look. “There’s body in the mayor’s basement. He’s been staked in the heart.”
He gaped at me.
“But that’s not the worst of it.”
“And that would be. . . ?” he finally said.
“We got us another goddamned vampire.”
